


fairy dust

by motherofrevels



Series: valentine Bambi eyes (negative) [3]
Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Brother/Brother Incest, Choking, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Pain, Painful Sex, Sibling Incest, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherofrevels/pseuds/motherofrevels
Summary: In darkness, Ian always finds the light in his father.—Part 2/4 of the negative outcome timeline for 'valentine Bambi eyes'.
Relationships: Barley Lightfoot & Ian Lightfoot, Barley Lightfoot/Ian Lightfoot, Ian Lightfoot & Wilden Lighfoot, Ian Lightfoot/Wilden Lightfoot
Series: valentine Bambi eyes (negative) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731595
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26





	fairy dust

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This is a work of fiction containing explicit content involving a minor engaging in sexual conduct. If this bothers you, please feel free to check out some of the other amazing works of fiction by other, far more talented writers here on Archive of Our Own. Thank-you. <3

Wilden's voice was soft in the petal-shaped flourish of his youngest son's ear, somewhere between a soft tenor and a dry baritone. " _I'm right here_ ," he cooed, beard dragging along the delicate contours of his boy's flushed jaw. His touches were warm and full of conviction as he ran strong hands through full, fluffy curls. "Tell me what you want," he murmured, bearded lips beginning a trail of kisses that began at the apex of Ian's flushed ear, and ended at bridge of his nose. "Tell me how to make you feel better."

A confectioner's chocolate gaze fixed itself on pools of hazel through a veil of heavy lids, lashes lowered into a purposeful show of bashfulness. " _You know_ what I want," Ian whispered, biting his lower lip as he raised his hands to remove his father's eyeglasses. "K-kiss me?"

The words had scarcely escaped his lips, before he found his mouth devoured; no match for Lightfoot Senior's expertise. Wilden's mustache was a bit overgrown, the azure hairs threatening that—given time—his son's delicate lips could be chaffed. Strong hands raised to hold his boy's head in place as his expert tongue delved deeper to explore the sweet, hot little furnace of Ian's naive mouth. 

In that moment, Ian felt every emotion. Bliss, grief, excitement, lust, remorse, arousal . . . He didn't want to close his eyes. He wanted to watch his father devour him.

Wilden's thumbs gently caressed the pastel softness of the younger mage's sun-kissed cheeks as they kissed, one hand eventually sliding down to wrap firmly around a delicate throat. Ian swallowed, and his father could feel it; larynx flexing under his grip. A grip which was steadily tightening, only ceasing when trembling hands raised to rest on the man's forearm.

"Who's my good boy?" his father asked, pulling away from the glistening crevasse behind his son's gaping lips.

" _I-I am_ ," Ian breathed, the elder mage's free hand joining his first at the boy's thin neck. " _I'm_ a good boy," he tried again, watching a smirk spread across his father's lips as they returned for a quick kiss.

" _Are_ you?" Wilden queried, sounding not entirely convinced. "How are you going to _show me_?" Thumbs moved to press a little more forcefully against the soft hollow of his son's flushed throat. "How can you _prove yourself_ to me?"

Ian's eyes glazed over beneath his lashes—half with the beginnings of tears, and half with pleasure—full lips trembling as his breath hitched. "I'll do whatever you say," the smaller elf promised, hands still rested on his father's forearms. His boyhood throbbed against his skinny jeans, a telltale wet spot having formed at the front of them.

" _Oh_ , is that _so_?" Wilden pressed, quirking a brow, " _Whatever_ I say?" His son's neck felt so fragile beneath his hands, adjusting his palms ever so slightly before applying more pressure. "And what would you _like_ for me to say?"

Ian's already flushed face deepened to scarlet, the shade of rose causing Wilden to swallow. The pressure in the junior Lightfoot's head was becoming unbearable, but he found the lack of oxygen went straight to his concealed hardness. "Th-that you'd like to feel my mouth on you," he answered in a whimper, his father smiling down at him lovingly. 

"And is that what _you_ want?" Wilden purred, "Is that how you plan on showing me how _good_ you are?"

Ian's trembling hands fell from his elder's forearms in response, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his father's belt; practically ripping the button off of his khaki slacks. 

"So _eager_ ," Lightfoot Senior chuckled, not yet releasing his grip on the freckled boy's throat. " _What do you say_?"

It was a test that Ian was sure to pass, but he pretended not to understand. "P- _Please_?" he tried in a wheeze, head swimming beneath his father's vice grip, which his answer only served to tighten.

The bearded elf tsked, golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Please, _what_ , Ian?" he pressed, feeling lithe hands finish unzipping his fly. " _Who am I?_ " With this, he made sure to apply enough pressure that Ian's eyes widened, momentary shock causing smaller hands to fly up and rest upon his own.

"D- _Daddy_!" Ian wheezed in a panic. " _Please, Daddy,_ " he croaked, voice broken as the pressure in his head threatened to burst his eardrums . . . 

Then all at once, he was released; Wilden's hands steadied themselves on his narrow shoulders as he gulped and gasped for air. His throbbing need was rigid against the confines of his jeans as he collapsed to his knees, hands grasping at his father's loafers.

Hazel eyes watched in amusement as fresh-cut rose slowly drained form Ian's face, the young elf trying his hardest to regain his composure, finding himself already in the position he would need to continue. 

" _Please, Daddy_ , **what**?" Wilden grumbled, a hand reaching down to tangle in his son's hair, dragging Ian's wincing face to his concealed manhood.

His father's need throbbed against his flushed cheeks, even through the layers of underwear and trousers. His scalp was on fire from the offending hand gripping his sapphire tresses, but he was too far gone to care. Eager hands raised to yank at the exposed waistband of his father's violet boxer-briefs, releasing the full weight of Wilden's member to slap him in the face with a small 'thud'.

And he wasted no time enveloping it; mouth opening wide to accommodate his father's velvety girth. With this, he felt the elder Lightfoot's hips roll forward, forcing him to take the full length of his father to the base. Profound nose now nestled into the soft hairs of Wilden's pelvis, Ian's eyes rolled back at the scent of him; somewhere between musk and firewood. A familiar (and beloved) scent.

" _Ah_ ," his father grunted into a chuckle, " _There's_ my good boy." Both hands now tangled in the soft down of his son's locks, Wilden began a deep on-and-off piston; a few steady strokes down Ian's willing throat—enjoying the chokes and gags as he went—then allowing him a few precious seconds to breathe. "How does that taste?"

Golden-brown eyes, reddened and watering, were practically glowing with adoration as they gazed up into the Midas-colored stare of his father. And Ian could only nod before his elder guided the dense hardness back into his willing mouth. 

Wilden's taste was a comfort to him. So familiar, yet somehow so different from what he was accustomed to.

" _That's_ right," Wilden assured, yanking his boy's head down to the base of his manhood once more. " _That's_ Daddy's baby boy," he cooed over the sounds of his son choking into a heave. " _So beautiful_."

Ian's eyes and nose ran streams down his face. 

He didn't feel beautiful at all, but he was making his father proud. 

And that's all he ever wanted. 

Thick trails of viscous saliva gurgled out of him as his stomach threatened to empty itself. Trembling hands raised to push his father away, but he found himself easily overpowered, Wilden's full length lodged as deeply into his neck as he could manage.

"Ian, if you throw up, I'll have to punish you," Wilden warned, voice scarcely heard over the sound of retching. "Would you _like_ to be punished?"

Ian felt his lungs seize into a panic. He couldn't breathe, and his father was too strong to push away; suspiciously powerful for a man of his stature. His heart was racing as his fight or flight responses kicked in, but he couldn't hold back any longer.

Textured liquid burst from his mouth around his father's manhood—some even leaking out of his nose—Wilden's grip on his hair finally loosening as he allowed his son to pull off. Heaves turned into coughs, and coughs turned into gasps for air. Ian's lungs were on fire, and his stomach was reeling. 

He felt so ashamed. 

He knew he'd failed his father's test.

With a sigh, the taller elf backed away. Toeing off his tan loafers and stepping out of his khaki slacks (both now speckled with fresh bile). He made sure to carefully remove the belt from his trousers, coiling it around his hand. "Take off your shirt and give it to me," he ordered, making short work of discarding his button-up into the same pile as the rest of his attire; kicking it all toward a distant scatter of unwashed laundry and scrapped Quests of Yore campaigns. 

Ian's quivering hands tried their best to feel around through the blur of tears, landing on a sable band t-shirt lying on the floor beside him; offering it to his father only to have it slapped from his grip.

"You're not _listening_ ," Wilden deadpanned, " _Your_ shirt, Ian. _Quickly_ , please," he pressed, manhood standing at attention over the rim of his violet boxer-briefs—sensibly matched to the stripes of his socks.

"I'm _sorry_ , Daddy," the junior Lightfoot croaked, voice hoarse and raw, "I'll try _harder_ next time." Thin, clumsy fingers stumbled over the claps of his own button-up, heartbeat quickening as he braved a glance to find his father's arms crossed at him. 

Lightfoot Senior was shirtless now—a light dusting of azure chest hair peeking out from behind the cross of his softly toned arms—that trailed down and across his stomach. 

"Daddy, _please_ don't be upset," Ian pleaded in earnest, shrugging out of his shirt at last and handing it to his father. 

Wilden's eyes softened, fingers brushing against his son's in a small act of mercy as he accepted the shirt from him, using it to clean the combination of mucous and bile from his manhood and scrotum before tossing it onto the floor between Ian's knees. "How should you be punished?" he asked, taking a few strides forward to bring his hardness back to his boy's face.

Ian shivered, delicate hands raising to wipe the mixture of fluids from his face, only to find them slapped away harshly.

" _I'll_ decide rather or not you get to clean up," Wilden rumbled, full brows pulled into a scowl as he crossed his arms again. " _Answer_ me."

" _I-I don't_ —" Ian tried, but his head was spinning. All he could focus on is the ache in his jeans, and the warm hardness drooling pre-cum onto his freckled cheek. "T-tell me how you wanna punish me, Daddy," the younger elf tried, doe eyes watering and face burning. 

He felt like such a failure. 

He knew he was disappointing his father, even though he was trying his best.

Wilden hummed, fingers raising to stroke his beard in thought. "You won't be finding any relief today. _That_ , I can guarantee," he stated, tone firm as he let his arms fall to his sides, "But _I_ will."

Ian nearly sobbed in response, eyeing the engorged manhood resting against his face hungrily. He wanted so badly to take it back into his mouth and try again. He knew he could fix this, if he was given the chance. 

But he knew he wouldn't be.

"Stand up and take off your pants," his father commanded, golden eyes gleaming with pride when his son followed his instructions without a moment's hesitation. And there he was; every svelte, awkward inch of soft, nearly hairless periwinkle skin exposed. His boyhood had seeped so much pre-cum, the front of his colorless briefs appeared sheer, revealing more than a hint of his pastel length. 

_'Wow . . . That never gets old,'_ Wilden mused before clearing his throat. "Hand me your underwear," he ordered next, catching the telltale flush of humiliation deepen on Ian's cherubic face. 

But Ian obeyed, stepping out of his soaked grey briefs and extending them to his father. The elder elf waited until his son worked up the nerve to catch his gaze, and without missing a beat, he accepted the dewy undergarment; raising it to his _own_ profound nose, breathing deep and humming in approval.

"You smell _sweet_ , baby boy," he purred, face softening into a smile, but gaze hardening into a leer. "But are you _really_ that sweet?" he wondered aloud, but it hit like a warning. He walked forward then, steps purposeful as he edged Ian back toward his older brother's bed, only stopping once his youngest son had successfully tripped and knocked himself into a seated position.

What happened next caught the young mage completely off guard, his father releasing the wound belt in his hands, using it to secure a makeshift leash (or potentially, a noose) around his thin, freshly bruised neck.

"On your hands and knees," Wilden barked, expression mostly unreadable save for an eerie calm.

Ian couldn't stand that face. 

It wasn't the face he'd hoped to find on the man he'd spent so many years wishing for. He'd hoped his father would be as Barley described; _whimsical, goofy, warm. **Loving** . . . _ But that wasn't the Wilden Lightfoot that stood before him.

As he prostrated himself before his father, he realized that instead; this was the Wilden Lightfoot that he _deserved_.

And this realization sawed through him like a dull knife.

The building blocks of the Wilden Lightfoot that he'd hoped to meet, were descriptions of his older brother. Not his father—for he hardly knew the man.

" _Good boy_ ," Wilden purred, kneeling to meet the pale curve of his son's supple rear. "Open up for me," he commanded, and Ian shifted his weight to his chest. His son's long fingers reached back to spread his soft cheeks apart, fully exposing the baby pink pucker of his entrance. " _So clean_ ," his father smiled, craning forward to plant a bearded kiss on one cheek, then the other. "Do you want me to taste you?"

Ian's whole body felt like it was on fire, his heartbeat thundering in his ears with raw need. "Y- _yes_ , Daddy," he stammered, feeling Wilden place another kiss at his tailbone. "P- _please_ taste me." And with this, Wilden's warm, wet mouth completely enveloped his tightness in a single wet kiss that made his breath hitch. 

"Is _this_ what you want?" his father asked briefly, large tongue greedily returning to his warm, sour-sweet pucker.

Ian's loins were on fire, drooling and oozing with unreleased tension onto his brother's unmade bed. "P- _please_ , Daddy," he practically sobbed, feeling his entrance very nearly invaded by his father's tongue. "P- _please_ use me," he tried with a little more conviction.

But Wilden pulled away.

"Use you, for _what_?" his father grumbled, voice thick and heavy in his throat as he replaced his tongue with his thumb; tracing the wetness he'd created before sliding it inside Ian's tightness. 

And the strangled sound that escaped his son made it all the more worthwhile. 

"Use you for . . . ?"

" _Use me to pleasure yourself!_ " Ian snapped, frustration and strain coloring his voice as he pressed himself further into the intruding digit. " _ **Please** , Daddy!_"

Wilden's hazel gaze widened for a moment, an uncharacteristic grin lighting his handsome face. He removed his thumb in an instant. "Do you think you could _actually_ pleasure me?" he sneered. The same hand that had once teased his son reached instead to give his belt a steady pull, drawing it tightly around a fragile, bruised neck.

Ian's eyes widened in panic as his raised trembling hands to claw at his father's belt.

"Do you think that _you_ could actually make me cum?" his senior chuckled, the sound warm and rich in Ian's ears as he desperately tried to wedge his fingers beneath the makeshift noose. "That _is_ what you want, _correct_? For me to fill your _belly_?" he teased, spitting in his hand and coating the tip of his enraged hardness.

Without warning, the full length of his father was slammed inside him; and in that moment, Ian's vision ran white-hot. A ringing in his ears threatened to split his head in two as he struggled to scream. But try as he might, he remained silent. He knew he had been torn. Some part of him. Somewhere. Deep inside.

The pain was crippling, but it served to heal him where he hurt the most.

" _F-fuck,_ " Wilden seethed, eyes rolling back at the searing heat inside his boy. "You're so _tight_ , baby," his voice wavered as he pulled back, only to shove back in. "You're so good to Daddy."

But his voice was scarcely a whisper to Ian, who could only focus on the dragon's fire igniting between his hips. He was screaming. He knew he was screaming. But the belt had been pulled too tight. Wilden was using it to steady himself.

"I'm so _proud_ of you, Ian," his father purred then, "You're so _beautiful_."

But words didn't matter anymore.

The world was beginning to grow dark.

Ian's young, fragile body was losing strength as he heard traces of what was likely a mighty roar from his father, before liquid fire poured inside him. It filled so much of him, in fact, he wasn't sure he could take it all. And in his rapidly dimming consciousness, he found his own release. Ribbon after ribbon of iridescence splashing out to glaze his brother's sheets . . . 

And all at once, the invading largeness seemed to double in girth within him, before sliding out.

 _'You won't be finding any relief today.That, I can guarantee,'_ Wilden had promised. 

But that had just been rendered _a lie_.

The spell of disguise had been broken. A magical pact, destroyed.

Fairy dust washed away by reality.

Struggling to steady himself on wobbling legs, Barley quickly ripped the belt from Ian's injured throat, large hands guiding his frail little brother back into a crouching position as coughs and heaves wracked a willowy frame.

Hot tears streamed down Ian's face, choking blending into sobs. " _Barley_ ," he wheezed, bloodshot eyes dizzied and unfocused. " _D-don't fucking **touch** me_, a-and **get out**."

The words cut deep, hazel eyes softening, before growing dark. "It's _my_ room, dude," he panted, afterglow souring with each passing moment.

" ** _Get out!_** " Ian sobbed, " _I don't fucking **need you** right now! I needed **Dad**! And you **fucked** it up!_"

Barley's stomach sank, his blood running cold.

_'You fucked it up!'_

The words formed an echo-chamber in his head, filling him with a sense of loss and betrayal that knocked the wind from his lungs. 

" _Okay_ , man," he whispered in surrender, " _Sorry._ " With this, he pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt he'd lifted from one of the piles littering his cluttered floor; casting one last amber glance back at his brother's shivering body. 

" _I love you, little bro_ ," he murmured, taking his exit, the door clicking to a close behind him.

Barley tried to be all that he could, for Iandore. 

Someone to run to, from the nightmares. Someone to confide in, when times were trying. Someone to bring sunshine to a lightless day.

Someone to love him. Unconditionally. 

But sometimes, when Ian's heart was especially dark, Barley would find that he could never quite be enough. 

Never quite measure up.

No matter what.

And in these rare instances, his brother would ask him for this very particular favor.

A favor that would stain their love a little more each time.

**Author's Note:**

> At what point did you realize what was going on?
> 
> Thank-you ever so much for taking the time to read this piece! I'm always looking to improve, so constructive critiques are always welcome. I hope you enjoyed! <3


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